be still my heart

On Tuesday, I donated blood.  I was so nervous that I fell into “crazy” mode and told them I am a unicorn.  It wasn’t as weird as it sounds. I think.

Technically I’m not supposed to donate because I don’t meet their minimum weight requirement.  I was surprised they let me, because the last three times I tried I was sternly turned away and told that donating while underweight would make me faint and die.

But they let me do it this time, so I went on the bus and gave them one billion drops of my blood.  And it was ok, except that when you give away a pint of your blood it means that inside your body you now have less blood.  And I did not consider that fact when I overdosed on sugar Wednesday night and had way too much coffee on Thursday.

In case you are not following, I gave away all of my blood and then replaced it with caffeine and sugar.  This was not a wise decision.  Friday was a blur of hyperglycemia, confusion, and regret.  In case you are a visual learner, I am including the following illustration as a depiction of what was going on inside my veins:

My racing heart serves as a temporary reminder to eat healthier and to refrain from giving away bodily resources to strangers.  At least until I fatten up a little.

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some cheap red wine

I feel extra duper happy because I had one glass of wine.  When you have one glass of wine, you love life and the whole world and you leave nice comments on your friends’ Facebook pages. Because you just feel warm and you love everything so much.

To be specific, I suppose I had half a glass of wine, only. Because I don’t even like wine. I like wine when you can mess it up with a whole lot of other things. Like cranberry juice, and club soda.

So I’ve had half a glass of wine, and a warm bath, and so the whole world and all of my friends in it are l0vely. And I am going back to the Book of Faces to comment and “like” and emoticon my half-glass of wine all over the place.  Unless I fall asleep first. In which case Husband will have to go pick up the laundry for me, ’cause right now it’s in the dryer all the way over at my mom’s house.

Also, I just noticed that in that last paragraph, I wrote the word lovely. But instead of using the letter o, I typed the number 0. Do you see it? It’s a very small difference. A small difference indeed but I am chuckling over here. I love you, o that is really an 0. And no one cares! Haha!

Have I told you lately that I love you? Not The Internet, but all the peoples that use it.  you’relovelygoodnight.

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i am so definitely leaving this state

I spent approximately thirty minutes of my Sunday night staring at a purse hung on a wall.

I was staring at the purse because I had to keep track of the cockroach that was hiding inside of it. I had watched with horror as it raped our entire apartment before flying into that bag. See the antennae? In real life they were moving, taunting me. I hid in the bathroom, peeking out from behind the door, keeping sight of those nasty antennae. I was armed with a shoe and a bottle of Windex in case that bug decided to make a move in my direction.

My 4-pound chihuahua hid in the bathroom with me. She crouched behind the toilet, shaking, with her tail between her legs. She had no idea what was happening, but she could tell I was scared and it left her just terrified. It was the saddest thing. I felt so ashamed for scaring her like that and I wanted so desperately to be a brave adult, but I was paralyzed by fear and simply couldn’t do it.

We stayed there until Husband came home and killed the bug. He is my hero, MY HERO, THE ONE WHO SAVED ME FROM THE BUG. And then I cried huge monster tears of relief. Up until that moment I had never realized just how terrified I am of roaches.

DANGIT FLORIDA AND YOUR FLYING MONSTERS.

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AND WHILE WE’RE BEING HONEST ABOUT OUR CRANKINESS

I asked Male Co-Worker to change the huge 5-gallon Culligan water jug, because the one that’s up there now is empty. And maybe I could change it myself, maybe, but I wouldn’t know because I will never try it. If God wanted me to change the water cooler, why would He have given us Male Co-Worker?

So I ask him to change it, and he’s all like, “Why do you want me to do it?” and I say “Duh, because you’re a boy.” And he tells me how women want to be “independent” and “self-sufficient” until it’s time to change the water jug or move furniture or kill a bug, blah blah blah.

And I’m all like “NO WAY, I don’t WANT to be independent, I want to stay at home in my pajamas and not have to work. As far as I’m concerned those feminists screwed it up big time, because now instead of raising babies and cleaning, I ‘get’ to go to work AND raise babies and clean! And for the record I am also JUST FINE not being able to vote or own my own land!”

Then Male Co-Worker says “Yeah well in the old days cavemen would just knock a woman over the HEAD with a CLUB and then take her to his CAVE, and THAT’S how they would pick a wife, WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT THAT?”

And I was like “I think that sounds hot,” at which point Male Co-Worker rolled his eyes, made some frustrated grunt, and begrudgingly walked to the cooler to change the water jug.

I believe that was also the precise moment he learned NOT TO ARGUE WITH A CUPCAKE-AHOLIC WHO IS ON A NEW DIET.

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let the guilty pooper confess!

The toilet is clogged at work, and you know what? I’m not unclogging it!

Everyone thinks I should do it. They think it was my fault because I’m the one who discovered it. But it wasn’t me! Actually, the only one safe from blame should be me.

I peed in there and when I flushed, nothing went down. The toilet paper just swirled around near the surface of the water. Whatever had clogged it was obviously there before I walked in.

The thing is, the thing is, there’s only two people who could be the culprit. One of them knows they’re guilty. One of them dropped a turd that clogged up the office toilet. I know it was a turd because that person didn’t have the decency to clean their skid marks.

ARE YOU READING THIS? THIS IS THE NASTY STUFF I HAVE TO DEAL WITH AT THIS OFFICE.

One of my co-workers is keeping silent while I am accused of something I didn’t do. That person better step up. They better step up and grip the plunger and undo what they did, because I DID NOT put on a dress and heels and pearls this morning to come play Plumber.

Now it’s just a battle of wills and bladders. Eventually someone will have to use the restroom so badly that they will be willing to fix the toilet. I will dehydrate today if I have to, because that person will NOT be me!

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that someone is not me

Somebody’s spoiling the chihuahua, and it’s not me.  When I got home from work she was all alone, lounging around like this:

You should know she’s not allowed in our bedroom when no one is home. Someone let her stay in there, in our bed, and someone even arranged all the sheets and pillows into a cozy mini fortress of fluff for her comfort.  Like this:

In someone’s defense, that 4-pound chihuahua is pretty hard to resist.

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“gut feeling,” a poem about renal lithiasis

Thirteen times did Husband vomit Sunday afternoon,
and since then only bland foods in our home have been consumed.
He felt a sharp pain in his side that would not go away.
It prompted us to visit our physician yesterday.

She poked him in the stomach as she asked him “Does this hurt?”
Then sent him for a urine test and also for blood work.
She said “He might have hurt himself from puking thirteen times,
or maybe there’s a kidney stone that’s hurting him inside.”

I began to laugh (though sympathetic for his plight).
We used to joke about those stones, and so it served him right!
I giggled in the office. Husband glared at me a while,
then recognized the irony and had to crack a smile.

She told him “Drink more fluids, rest a lot, and take Advil.”
Then sent us on our way with an enormous doctor bill.
The moral of the story is: Be careful when you chatter;
those kidney stones you joke about could end up in your bladder.

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fun with names

I have a customer who’s last name is Buchholz.  It kinda sounds like “buttholes.” Good thing his first name’s not Harry.

I also knew a girl with the last name Runsifer.  Sounds to me like “Rumpsniffer.”  I haven’t thought of a fun first name to go with it yet, though.

When I was in tenth grade I used to waste massive amounts of classtime by thinking of funny name situations.  I almost wish I’d saved the list I wrote because it was pretty good stuff, like…

If you were born ____, I’d name you ____.

  • on a shovel, Doug
  • in a car, Otto (or Carly, or Mercedes)
  • on the beach, Sandy (or Shelly)
  • on a scale, Wade

And so on, and so forth. It was definitely a lot more interesting than my 7th period World History class, and possibly more relevant too.  Because now I know that if I ever birth a daughter on the couch, I can name her Sophie!  And then I’d also have a reason to buy a new couch.

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cupcake/coffee conundrum

At work one afternoon, I started dreaming about cupcakes. I wanted cupcakes so bad. I was debating in my head whether or not I should run to the store and get some. And I was thinking to myself, like, “Dude, you should do it, and I bet they’re on sale ’cause it’s the day after Memorial Day.” I didn’t even tell anyone what I was thinking.

And then I swear to you, a customer walked by and said “Hey. Cupcakes are on sale today. ‘Cause it’s the day after Memorial Day.”

Have you ever had a customer randomly walk into your office and tell you that?

I was totally convinced. “I am going to have cupcakes & coffee!!!” I told everyone in the office. I was so excited. I was so so so so excited. I was as excited as Rebecca Black is about Friday.

I ran to the grocery store next door, bought my cupcakes, and started brewing a pot of coffee in the break room.

Right as my coffee was ready, I noticed one million ants invading the coffee machine. Maybe two million. THREE MILLION ANTS, coming from beneath the coffee maker.

I had no idea where all those ants came from. They weren’t there on Friday. They must have come in over the three-day Memorial weekend. I imagined in my head a little ant updating his Facebook status like this:

‘Cause ants use Facebook, right?

My spirit was crushed, demolished, flattened, DESTROYED, because I was really looking forward to my snack. I had even bragged about it to my c0-workers. If I didn’t have cupcakes & coffee now, then I would be a LIAR! I briefly considered drinking the ant-infested coffee in order to maintain my integrity, but ultimately decided against it.

And then – just then – as my world was crashing down – as things were hopeless – while I was an unintentional liar who would be forced to enjoy discount cupcakes without any coffee – just then – at that very moment –

Husband walked in the front door of the office; unannounced, unexpected, and as a hero, BRINGING ME A LATTE!

I exploded with happiness and enjoyed my lovely afternoon snack. This all happened within a literal 10-minute span, one event right after the other. And it goes to prove that the entire world really, truly, actually does revolve around me and my stomach’s happiness.

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what i’m doing with that education

Yesterday, while eating at Moe’s Southwestern Grill, I was approached by my former college professor.

He asked, “So what do you do now?”
And I answered, “Just eatin’ as much Moe’s as possible!!!”

This man… educator… Head of the Department… former police leader… with his degrees and his teaching and his clout and his fancy pleated pants…

This man asked me what I’m doing with my life, and I basically told him I AM USING IT TO EAT AS MANY BURRITOS AS POSSIBLE.

Sounds about right.

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